If my head hadn’t been stuck to that neck with a stiff neck, this wouldn’t have happened.
Yesterday I went to the pharmacy to buy some medicine for my son: an iron supplement to compensate for the grimace he makes when eating beans. When I got there, the dreaded question came to mind: “What did I come to buy here?” I remembered that I needed medication for my intestinal/mental health (laxative), that must be it. I even picked up a pack of Novalgina at the checkout, after all, you can never have too much.
I went home, but soon left for the dentist. In the car, it came to my mind: “Where did I leave the medicine bag again?” I immediately thought: “It must be here in the back seat.” I turned my neck and what I got was a stiff neck, nothing from the bag. I vaguely remembered walking into the house with her. But there was one detail: the day before I had gone to the pharmacy too. In other words, it could be déjà vu.
I sent a message to Selma, my faithful squire. She knows exactly where every clip in the house is, she would never let something the size of a bag go unnoticed. Nothing done.
In fact, if my head weren’t stuck to that painful neck, the bag would certainly be forgotten in the pharmacy aisle. And that! I must have left it at the pharmacy! I called. “Yes, ma’am, what is the invoice number?” Me: “Honey, if I don’t remember where I left the medicine I bought this morning, what are the chances of me knowing the invoice number that was probably left in the bag?” Nothing done again.
With each denial, the thoughts that I was a tapir caused my invisible whip to crack right on my neck.
All I could do was go over in my head everything I did during the day. I took my son to school… Did he stay there? Well, since we haven’t been able to go back in time yet, it would be impossible, given that I went to the pharmacy after leaving him. Did it stay with my boyfriend? Another impossible hypothesis, since I ended up not stopping by his house, as he left for the gym early.
The parking lot at the dentist building was super tight and packed with cars. A garage attendant signaled me saying something like: “First floor is full, there is space downstairs.” Second basement: zero. Third: zero (in English). Fourth: zéro (French). I went down the infinite ramps until I stopped before one of them (which would certainly lead to hell), in a panic attack. I desperately needed to get out of that dungeon. But how, my God???
I started shaking my chin and pouting, almost bursting into tears, and that’s not a metaphor. Until I found an employee: “Man, for the love of God, where is the exit from this place?” I wanted to say hell, but I stifled it so he wouldn’t think I was calling him a bad thing. He promptly replied: “Have you already paid for the ticket at the counter?” Me: “Is there no tolerance?” Referring to the time I could leave without paying and the universe’s tolerance towards me. There was neither. Then he said, helpfully: “There’s a vacancy there, look.” See, I can build a dishwasher like no one else, but backing my vehicle into a tiny space is not my responsibility. I learned this through pain, from scratching my car on pillars. Gently, he said, “I’ll park for you, ma’am.” After all, he was a son of God.
At the dentist, I had my teeth cleaned. After that, I went for coffee and cake with a friend, who worked in the building, and started creating tartar for the next cleaning. I returned home.
When I arrived, I did a lot of research, promising 3,333 hops to São Longuinho, but it’s no longer in my favor. I started mentally rewinding everything I did that day. There were only two possibilities left: either I threw the bag in the trash, or the garage guy took it. I hate shifting the blame for my mess-ups, but I was blinded by (self)hate.
I went through the trash with a plastic “glove” bag. I even looked to see if it was the medicine bag. I only found a banana peel and a container of yogurt. Then I thought about the valet, but I reflected: having access to thousands of cars, who in their right mind would steal medicine to loosen the bowels and for a headache? I confirmed, that garage guy was from heaven.
Exhausted, I called my mother, who asked: “Daughter, didn’t you keep your medicines somewhere?” We try to deny it, but mothers are almost always right. I opened the bottle that I call “pharmacinha” and they were there: two flat pink boxes and a green card. Phew!
Then you ask me: everything is resolved, right? Unfortunately not, given that the iron supplement I went to buy at the pharmacy was still on the shelf waiting for me to get my head together and finally buy it.
*This text does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Jovem Pan.
